


Dysfunction Junction

by Cumberbatch Critter (CumberbatchCritter)



Series: Awkward Boys Being Awkward Boys - Without Slash! [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (Up to the end of Series Two of course), Aromatherapy, Asexual!Sherlock, Awkward John, Awkward Sherlock, Awkward situations, Canon Compliant, Debauched Sherlock, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Johnlock if you'd like I suppose, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Or if you squint wear goggles or tilt your head, Pre-Reichenbach, Pre-Series Three, Viagra, massage oil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CumberbatchCritter/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock takes Viagra. The consequences get a bit... hard for him to deal with.</p><p>---</p><p>Basic plot : Sherlock takes too many Viagra, calls John for help, John realises that Sherlock knows very little about self-pleasure, and basically tries to coax him through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dysfunction Junction

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the warnings and rating!

John leaned eagerly into the kiss, smiling around Jaclyn's lips. He was impressed with the way she kissed. For being thirty-two and still a virgin, she was talented with her tongue. He vaguely didn't know if he should be impressed or bothered.

In the end, he didn't care, and reached up to thumb her hair behind her ear.

His mobile buzzed in his pocket, making him jump from the stimulation.

"What was that?"

"My phone..." John muttered, pulling away to get to his pocket. "Sorry. I'll turn it off."

He was just about to press the power button when he glanced at the text alert on his screen.

 **_Medical 999. -_ ** **_S_ **

John's lips twitched down slightly. "Uh... actually, can you give me a second?" he asked, looking back at Jaclyn.

"Is everything alright?"

John forced a smile onto his face. "Yeah, I'm sure. Just a sec."

He took his mobile out into the hallway, sending off the speed dial to Sherlock. He didn't answer, which was hardly surprising. John sent him a text instead.

**_What's wrong? - JW_ **

The response text didn't come through for a whole minute and a half (which really was surprising because Sherlock _always_ texted back immediately if he had texted John first).

**_Medical problem. - S_ **

**_You're going to have to be a tiny bit more specific. Are you hurt? - JW_ **

**_No. Not physically. - S_ **

**_What does that mean? - JW_ **

**_You know how I was working to clear an alibi? - S_ **

**_What did you do? - JW_ **

It was automatic, reflexive, even. Normally, he'd be asking what he did to the flat or the furniture or the wall, sometimes even his jumpers, but he had said _medical_... meaning he had done something to himself. This, naturally, did not sit well with John.

The thoughts of what Sherlock could do to himself were... less than pleasant. Stab himself, cut himself, burn himself. Chemical burns, sliced fingers, dismembered body parts. Not to mention the things that Sherlock would do, not just in experiments, but in pure casework, getting bones broken in fights or ingesting generally accepted _not_ edible things.

There was, again, a delay in response. John's nerves perked up more.

**_Sherlock, what are you doing? - JW_ **

**_Masturbating._ **

The response was rapid-fire this time and John nearly dropped the phone. His face flushed hot, most assuredly with a tinge of pink, and he stared at the tiny printed word in disbelief. Of course Sherlock... did that... John knew. He was male and... yeah. But... _really_?

**_Now that I've been subject to that semi-disturbing thought,_ _I'm going back to my date with Jaclyn. - JW  
_ _Have fun. - JW_ **

He was just about to power his phone down for the second time when the text came back.

**_No, John, this is an emergency! - S_ **

John sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and typed back:

**_You still haven't told me your 'medical emergency'. - JW_ **

**_I've got an erection. - S_ **

**_And you know how to deal with that. - JW_ **  
**_Stop taking the piss and leave me alone. - JW_ **

**_It's persistent. - S_ **

**_I REALLY do not want to hear about this. - JW_ **  
**_I'll be back later tonight. - JW_ **

It wasn't until he had actually turned off his phone and gone back to snogging the woman awaiting him in the sitting room that he realised that maybe "persistent" meant something different to Sherlock than it did to John, in the term of erections.

He sighed, apologised profusely (again) to his date, and locked himself in the bathroom with his phone. He already had a myriad of texts in the process of the twenty minutes he had had his phone off.

**_John, please. - S_ **  
**_It won't go away. - S_**  
 _**Does it qualify as 'medical emergency' if it's been more than two hours?**_  
 _**Apparently not.**  
 **Does it qualify that I've taken a Viagra?** _

This last text came through just as John was reading through all of them. He didn't know if he paled or if he flushed again.

**_Why did you take a bloody boner pill if you didn't_ _want to have a wank?! - JW_ **

**_It's for an alibi! - S_ **

**_Your erection is for an alibi?! - JW_ **

**_Well, not my erection specifically. - S_ **

**_Sodding hell. Did you only take one? - JW_ **  
_**Sherlock? - JW** _  
**_I'll take that as a no. How many? - JW_ **

**_Three. Threeish. - S_ **

John swore out loud and typed back a hasty _"I'll be there in twenty"_ (despite the fact that _he_ couldn't do anything specfically), came up with a fake story for Jaclyn, promised to call, and beat it - no pun intended - back to Baker Street.

**_Are you having any side-effects? - JW_ **

**_Asides from the bloody erection? - S_ **

**_Yes, asides from that. - JW_ **

**_Bit light-headed. My pulse is elevated. - S_ **

John closed his eyes briefly, trying to think back to what he knew about priapism. He knew Sherlock should be going to hospital, but also knew that, with what he knew about Sherlock, he wouldn't. So, John was elected to... take care of it.

**_Have you... you know? - JW_ **

**_Have I what? - S_ **

John sighed and typed back with trying to think very little about it. He was a doctor. It shouldn't be this embarrassing but... damn it. He wanted _nothing_ to do with Sherlock's penis, much less Sherlock's erect penis that wouldn't go down.

**_Got off. - JW_ **

**_I've reached orgasm twice. Hasn't helped. - S_ **  
**_The Viagra, unfortunately, DOES make refractory periods much shorter. - S_ **  
**_Also, everything's a bit blue. - S_ **

John frowned again, but didn't text back. Instead, he paid the cabbie, unlocked the front door, and ran up the steps, letting himself into Sherlock's bedroom without knocking.

"What do you mean, everything's blue?" he asked calmly.

Sherlock was sitting in bed, clad in only his blue dressing gown and the flush that went straight from the tips of his ears to the hollow beneath his throat. He looked up at John immediately, eyes alight with fire that John had never seen (a fire which, also, made his cheeks burn again because he shouldn't be seeing Sherlock like this) but a little bit frantic in a way that wasn't speaking of pleasure.

"My vision's gone a sort of blue tint. I did some research. I read that Viagra can cause such a thing..." Sherlock replied, fingers twisting knots into the folds of his dressing gown. He was covered up, at least, although John felt vaguely like that was for _his_ benefit and not Sherlock's.

"Sherlock, you need to go to hospital. I cannot help you here."

Sherlock squirmed, pressing his head back against the pillow in a fit of annoyance. "I'm not going to hospital," he ground out.

John walked over to grab Sherlock's wrist for a pulse. "I don't know what you expect me to do. Sherlock, you could have a heart attack. You could die from this. Is that how you want to go? Sherlock, famous consulting detective, death by erection?"

Sherlock groaned. "Tell me what to do!"

John paused, still keeping a feel on Sherlock's pulse. "... What do you mean, tell you what to do?"

"Oh, I'm not good at it!" Sherlock snapped, fingers abandoning his dressing gown and pressing firmly into his thigh. "I've never been good at it!"

"At masturbating," John clarified.

"Yes," Sherlock replied tersely. "I don't... partake like normal human males," he spat.

"Okay," John said, trying to be soothing. "Just calm down. Take a deep breath. I'm going to get a blood pressure reading and then we'll talk, okay?"

Sherlock was right, when it came back; his pulse was accelerated and his blood pressure rising. John knew it didn't help that Sherlock was so worked up over it and it wasn't going to help the impending orgasm, either.

"What have you tried?" he asked, folding the blood pressure cuff away.

"What have I tried?" Sherlock echoed irritably. "The normal... thing." He made a vague - but wholly understandable - gesture with hand and wrist. "I said I got off."

"You're forcing yourself to get off," John said quietly. "You're going to have to find something to help you relax or you really will have to go to hospital. You're not satiating your libido and the more worked up you are, the less helpful ejaculation is becoming."

"I can't relax with this _thing_ bobbing about between my legs!" Sherlock retorted.

John resisted the urge to sigh or roll his eyes, maybe simultaneously. Sherlock made it sound so foreign. John had never really stopped to think that it _was_ foreign to him. Sherlock didn't have time for sex and probably only got off when it had become something impossible to ignore. So, it was possible that he didn't... _really_... know how to masturbate.

"Sherlock... ugh. I'm just going to ask: how many times have you done this?"

"What? Viagra?"

"No. Masturbating."

Sherlock shrugged. "Now and again. More when I was a teenager but... I don't bother with it, not since I've gotten older." He squirmed again, fingers kneading into his leg. He was probably going to have bruises.

"... Do you... well, you must know the mechanics."

"I know the mechanics." Sherlock let out a long, thin, shaking breath. "Like I said, I'm not very good, though."

"Have you... watched porn?" John tried. "Ever?"

Sherlock's head tossed from side to side. "No. Well, I've watched it. Too sloppy to masturbate to. Loud," he added, as an afterthought.

"Not if you've got good porn..." John muttered. "Maybe now's not exactly the time, but if you're going to be pulling Viagra stunts... you might want to, you know, research a bit on a good hand job..." he trailed off, pacing slightly across the room.

"Yes, great, fine," Sherlock said impatiently. "You show me."

John choked on the breath he was taking. His face turned crimson in a matter of seconds. He was almost positive that the blood wouldn't be leaving it to go anywhere else _anytime_ soon.

" _No_ ," he said firmly. "I am not making a complete prat of myself by... no. You can watch the porn I've enjoyed, but... no. Never ask me that again."

Sherlock glared weakly. "Why not? I know what you do when you take forty minutes showers."

John would have turned more red, if he had any blood left. Of course he had figured that Sherlock could guess, but he never said anything and John was just fine with it. "Yeah, well, I'm not having a shower right now and you're not watching me wank."

Sherlock turned his head away, huffing.

"Have you tried... I don't know, lube? Oil? Aromatherapy?" John asked.

Sherlock frowned, looking back. "For what? I'm not putting my dick into anything except my own hand. And why would smelling something help me get off?"

John sighed again. "Lube isn't just for... penetration. It makes it easy to, er... you know. It moves easier. Lubrication. And oil's the same point, really, but you put that on your body, too..."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, half distractedly. John didn't miss when he palmed himself through his dressing gown, his bare toes curling under, but he tried to ignore it.

"Helps you relax. Hang on."

John left the room and ran upstairs, rummaging through his drawers. He returned downstairs a minute later with his bottle of warming oil. Something he was almost positive that he had never had a thought about sharing with Sherlock, but... yeah, John didn't really want to have to escort a debauched Sherlock to hospital, either. People would talk.

"Okay, you can try this," he said, handing both over to Sherlock. "Take... take your gown off, rub that oil into your skin."

Sherlock's eyes skimmed over the label-less container. "What is it?"

"It's oil," John said.

"Obviously," Sherlock said.

"Body oil. Well, massage oil, actually, but... I'm not explaining why it works or guaranteeing it'll help, but just do it. I'll be outside the door."

"But-"

"I'm pretty sure you don't need my help to rub oil onto your body," John said firmly, leaving the room and closing the door with a definitive snap.

He went into the sitting room to look for a candle that didn't have an overwhelming scent - Sherlock wouldn't be able to focus if his other senses couldn't fade into the background - when Sherlock called for him with an impending sense of alarm.

"What?" John yelled back, screwing the lid off a candle and sniffing at it. Vanilla, he guessed, something soft and sweet, not too strong. It would work.

"It... tingles," Sherlock said weakly. "And it's hot."

John raised his eyebrows. "Yes, it's supposed to do that. It's warming oil."

"It feels... strange."

"Good strange?" John asked, gently opening the door to peer into the bedroom.

"Uhmmm... yes," Sherlock said hesitantly. He was wiping his hands off on a tissue, looking a bit more undone than when John had just left. "... Candle."

John glanced at the candle. "Yeah. Like I said, aromatherapy. Relax your senses." He set it down and lit it, leaving the lighter on the table.

Sherlock shivered slightly, for whatever reason, and closed his eyes. "Vanilla."

"Yes," John said. "You've done the oil. I think you can figure out the rest of it. But you need to relax."

"How?" Sherlock asked simply.

"Close your eyes."

Sherlock sighed, but did as asked.

"Deep breaths. In through your mouth, out through your nose."

"I can't relax," Sherlock reminded him, but he didn't open his eyes and he did take the deep breaths as John instructed. "I don't relax with... my body betraying me."

John frowned slightly. "Your body's behaving perfectly normally."

"I should be in control," Sherlock muttered. "Not the other way 'round."

"You're _human_ ," John said. "Not to mention, you took medication to _make_ your body react like this."

Sherlock sighed through his nose. He didn't say anything else.

John stayed silent, studiously keeping his gaze on Sherlock's face and watching the tension lines slowly fade from his friend's face. He didn't stop looking uncomfortable, but did stop being so tense... albeit only slightly.

"Is it helping?" John asked quietly after a few minutes of silence.

Sherlock jumped.

John took that as an affirmative. "I'm going to let you-"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. "No, don't leave!"

John gave him a look. "I'm not staying in here while you get off. I'll go in the bathroom if you want me to stick around. It's three feet from here, alright?" he asked.

Sherlock looked at him intently before nodding slightly. "... Fine."

"Deep breaths," John reminded, exiting to the bathroom. He didn't close the door.

Silence for a moment and then:

"Your oil is cold straight from the bottle," Sherlock said, tone tinged with disgust.

John sighed and mentally facepalmed. "Warm it in your hands before you put it on your cock. It warms up, anyway." He realised his tone was slightly sarcastic, but... Sherlock was _so_ above everyone else and he didn't even know the basics of masturbation.

"Mmm."

"Alright?"

"Yes. Odd sensation."

"What do you _usually_ use?" John couldn't help but ask.

"To get it slick? Saliva," Sherlock said easily.

"Yeah... Maybe buy some lube." Not that he hadn't done desperate things in desperate times, but he really preferred lube above all else. Unless it was oral... but that was something different entirely and he was _not_ going to bring it up with Sherlock.

Sherlock hummed in reply, but fell silent.

John leaned against the bathroom wall in silence. At least three minutes had gone by before John was struck with another idea.

"You understand foreplay?"

 _"What?"_ Sherlock gasped. He sounded a bit breathless.

John swallowed. "Foreplay. Er... Stimulating the rest of your body."

Sherlock sighed breathily. "Oh. Not sure. How?"

John let out another - mostly incredulous, embarrassed - breath. "Uhhmmm... Like... stimulating your... nipples and things."

"Nipples and things," Sherlock repeated.

John sighed, putting his face in his hands. "Your nipples, damn it."

"You don't have to sound so an- _gry_." Sherlock's voice pitched up on the last syllable.

"... I'm going to assume that you just tried it."

"Oh... it's..." Sherlock trailed off with a little breathy exhaltation.

"Good you like it," John muttered. He sighed and moved away from the doorway, turning on the sink tap. He ran his hands under the cold water and scrubbed his face. He still felt like he was burning from head to toe. He was going to make sure Sherlock never bought Viagra again... somehow.

He turned off the tap and dried his hands. He was about to sneak out through the other bathroom door and leave Sherlock to his devices (and hope that it worked this time) when he was struck by the noises coming from the bedroom. The lack thereof.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmm?"

"... Why are you so quiet?"

"Shouldn't I be?" He was still breathless, but John hadn't heard him make a sound otherwise. "You are. In the shower. When you jerk off."

"That's because I'm trying to hide it from you," John muttered, before raising his voice. "Bottling it up isn't helping, either. Be vocal."

Sherlock didn't reply, but a slightly audible, gusty moan floated out from the room. John took that as his signal to leave, silently slipping out through the other door and going back to the sitting room.

The problem, John realised over a cup of tea, with Sherlock being vocal was that it was _impossible_ to ignore once he got going. And while the sighs and the moans that made their way through the closed door and into the sitting room probably meant good things for Sherlock, it made John _horridly_ uncomfortable. He resisted the urge to plug his ears.

Approximately five and a half minutes later - and John was timing it, every tick of the second hand on the clock because he had nothing else to do - the noises from the bedroom changed. More long, more drawn out, slightly muffled. And then - nothing.

John tilted his head, giving Sherlock the benefit of a minute of privacy before going back to knock on the door.

"... Okay?"

Sherlock didn't respond.

"Sherlock?" John pushed the bedroom door open. (He'd never forgive himself if Sherlock had a heart attack while having an orgasm that John had kind of pushed him into.)

"Hmmm?" Sherlock mumbled, without moving his lips.

He was curled onto his side, still completely naked, skin gleaming slightly from the massage oil he had been using. His eyes were closed, his chest heaving.

"You're alright?"

Sherlock pried his eyes open, smiling faintly. "... Yeah."

"Everything go off alright, then?"

Sherlock sighed weakly, closing his eyes. "Yes..."

"Good. Uh..." John was suddenly startlingly aware of Sherlock's nakedness, of the fact that he probably had cum drying on his skin as well as massage oil. "Do you want to clean up...? And then I'll take another blood pressure reading..."

Sherlock shook his head, a tiny movement of his head. "Tired," he mumbed.

While that was understandable (three orgasms were probably three orgasms too many when it came to Sherlock's tolerance for such things), John wasn't going to let him lay there. "Come on. Just a quick rinse-off and then you can go to sleep."

"Knackered," Sherlock mumbled.

"Sherlock."

"Stop." Sherlock's voice came out something disturbingly close to a sob. "Lemme sleep..." he mumbled, curling up tight. "Too much..."

John paused, removing his hand from Sherlock's shoulder. "... Alright. I'll take care of you. Go to sleep."

Without putting too much thought to what he was doing, John went to the bathroom to get a cloth. He ran it under warm water and lathered it up with soap, going back to the bedroom. Being as inobtrusive as possible, he gently washed down Sherlock's thighs and stomach, washing away most of the remnents of what had occurred.

"... Good orgasm..."

John jumped, looking up from his washing. He felt awkward again, now. There was less connotation to cleaning Sherlock up when he was asleep than when he knew he was awake. "Oh?"

"... Why...?" Sherlock mumbled. His voice was thick with exhaustion.

"I'm not sure," John said truthfully. "Maybe because you were relaxed. Maybe the oil, maybe the candle... stimulation. Difficult to say."

"... was good..."

"Good." John stood up. "Now go to sleep." He pulled the duvet up over Sherlock, resting his hand on his shoulder for a beat before turning away.

"... Thank you..."

It was barely audible, a ghost of a gratitude, and John barely heard it at all. But he did, and he smiled faintly.

"You're welcome, Sherlock. Just don't take any more Viagra."

Sherlock didn't reply - he must have dropped off - but he clutched at the duvet and pulled it closer with a soft, content, sigh.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I like to put the boys in awkward sexual scenarios.
> 
> Yes, all the scenarios tend to dance about this topic.
> 
> No, this isn't the only stuff I write. I've just had a few awkward!boys ideas in my mind and I was too nervous to put them up. Didn't know if people would accept my non-Johnlock stance on things with potential Johnlock undertones (albeit I don't view them like that). Didn't know if my FF.net followers would accept I write other things than my FF.net stories.
> 
> But, if you don't like the awkward sexual stuff, I've got about two hundred other stories that are super fluffy and adorable, so you can stick to those. :)


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